The Tears of a Rose
by Liena67
Summary: this is a small adlock oneshot I wrote in italian language that I have personally translated into english so forgive any non-perfect style and any mistakes. A single rose in Sherlock's hospital room and an impossible link to forget.


Paris is a magical city. Epic and monumental like Notre-Dame, elegant and luxurious like the Champ Elysee, rich in folklore and local history like Montmartre, the Latin Quarter or the Jewish quarter of Le Marais. Irene loves the magic of this city, loves its nightlife, the clubs of some areas always open until late at night. But she also appreciates the daytime Paris, the walks in the Luxembourg gardens, the coffee or the aperitif at one of the bars with tables facing the theater of the Opera, perhaps for a snack before entering to enjoy one of the shows. It is already ten days in the city and usually she comes out most evenings. She needs to get distracted, pretending that her life is exactly as she wants it, even if she knows, at the bottom of her heart, that it is not. The false identity that she assumed to protect herself from the terrorist network, which would still want her head, allows her to move freely, albeit with extreme care. She travels constantly throughout Europe, she does not miss anything, but a part of herself, her deepest heart, is always in London. She sighs slightly as looks out the window of the car that runs along the long Seine. The voice of her companion next to her seems a rather annoying background noise now. The umpteenth man full of himself but of a mortal boredom. She hears almost nothing of what he says, but her ability to manipulate people is such that her companion seems to be sure to like her. Typical of those who talk a lot without ever saying anything really interesting. Her mind inevitably returns to those moments with him. Those few short moments. The long silences in which their eyes crossed and seemed to say everything. That deep and warm voice, that brilliant mind. With him it was impossible to get bored. A fascinating continuous mystery that has chained her heart and her soul. Irene turns to her companion now, smiling in the way as she knows how to do, with that captivating and magnetic smile, that makes every man and many women stutter when they are near her. The car stops in front of the hotel where she resides. The door is opened and with her natural elegance she descends giving her hand to his companion. They arrive together until the hotel entrance but before entering Irene stops. Her clear eyes rest on the man and her expression appears as the most sincere and angelic ever seen.

"Jean, I have been very well with you tonight, but I will not ask you to go up, not today at least" her warm voice is just a whisper while she speaks lightly putting her hand on his arm "you understand me?"

The man nods, placing his hand on hers, completely enmeshed by that look and words full of expectations and hopes.

"Of course Alice, I see. It was a very pleasant evening for me too. Rest well" he says, stroking her hand for a few more moments before she withdraws and moves away.

Finally left alone Irene sighs almost with relief. To pretend to be Alice, a rich widow of a good family, easily succeeds but bores her as never before. She would much rather return to being Irene Adler, The Woman, the Dominatrix who all fear and adore, The Woman who submits all to her will, except that damned detective with the funny hat that has upset her life. As she climbs into the elevator, thinking back to that hunting hat with which he often appears in photos, a sincere, amused smile lights up her face and eyes. The doors open and the sound of her steps along the long corridor is muffled by the carpet. Finally, she enters her room, a luxurious suite on the top floor, and closed behind her the door, she goes to the table, placed in front of the large window from which one can admire the magnificence of the Eiffel Tower. She opens her laptop and connects to the internet, as she does most nights, opening the page of John Watson's blog. No new posts highlighted. She then opens the pages of major English online newspapers to read the news and see if there are any interesting cases that could attract Sherlock's attention.

She follows his every step at a distance, every one of his cases. Sometimes she sends some text messages with ideas or suggestions, because she also loves mysteries to solve. Other times, instead, she only writes to greet him. And as always he never answers, except very rarely. Yet Irene does not give up. As if she felt the bond with him indissoluble and for now this seems to be their way of relating, their game. The page she was reading is now updated with new news and as soon as she reads her smile completely disappeared. The light eyes open wide, the lips open, the breath almost seems to lack her. Someone shot him, Sherlock is in the operating room hit by a bullet in his chest. Only a few lines on the place where the shooting took place and the hospital where he is now. After the first moment when the world has suddenly become dark, the heart comes back to beating but so fast that it almost seems to have to burst into her chest. She opens a dozen pages of newspapers, news, blogs looking for new updates on his status but she doesn't find anything new. She looks at the phone next to the laptop and thinks for a moment to contact John Watson. But she can't do it. Nobody knows she's still alive, no one but Sherlock who saved her. Irene tries to reason quickly and gets up and starts walking in the room. She moves in a circle like a ferocious panther, a caged panther looking for a way out of that golden prison. She can't wait to get news from the newspapers. She can't yet go to London for now, it would be too risky and would jeopardize her cover. But something must do it. She stops again in front of the laptop and takes her phone. It is a risk to let people know that she is still alive, but among her most loyal old customers, someone who knows how to keep the secret she can find it. Irene runs the hidden address book in an encrypted file in her phone and selects a contact name. She made her choice and does not come back. After all, it's been since she knows him that she can't go back.

Sherlock opens his eyes slowly, feeling the morphine finally begin to make its effect. Since he awakened just before, the pain had been strong and constant. Janine, who recently left his room, was definitely angry, more than he would have expected. The joke of closing the morphine did not particularly welcome him, even if perhaps, thinking about it, he deserves it. But he had no choice. If he wanted to go into that office, the only means he had was through Janine and certainly could not simply ask her. But perhaps getting to present himself with a ring was a bit 'exaggerated, now he reflects. But even fun, he admits, thinking back to John's surprised and angry expression. He sighs thinking of his friend. He has to do something to figure out how to help him, because he can't keep him in the dark about what he found out about Mary, a woman who lied to both of them, but so clever that she managed to confuse him. He still sighs, thinking that only another woman before Mary had succeeded. The Woman, who knows where she is now. Sherlock's eyes wander around the room now, looking at the various bunches of flowers his friends and fans have had, and they finally land on that single red rose. He noticed it as soon as he woke up. A solitary vase with a single rose. He does not need to ask himself from whom the rose arrived, he knows, he feels it. He looks at the rose for a few moments as if it could talk to him, pretending not to feel that feeling of inner warmth, trying, as always, to drive away his mind to think of her. Now he remembers how she somehow appeared again in his mental palace, while he was a step away from death. His own mind that spoke to him with the voice and appearance of Moriarty, who was waiting to see him die but reminded him who would cry for him.

" _A friend will cry, The Woman will cry"._

Sherlock returns again to look at that rose, then turns to the bedside table and takes his phone. He turns it on and after a while he hears a message from her, with that unmistakable sound that he does not decide to change.

 **The Woman:** Janine? Really... Janine?? Now that you surprise me Sherlock

A single message. No calls, no alarmed sms, a single message as it is in her style, to let him know that she always follows him. A few words and that single rose with which she tells him everything. He smiles amused for a moment. He closes the phone but continues to hold it in his hand. Look again at that rose. "The Woman will cry", still those words resound in his head. Sherlock reopen the phone and reads her message again. He sighs and this time he feels he can't resist the desire to answer her.

 **Sherlock:** Janine needed me. I had to enter a place where only she could let me in. S.H.

He sends the message after writing it asking if it is a mistake, pretending not to know why he wanted to answer, clarify, but now the message has left. After a few moments again that sound. He knew she would answer almost immediately.

 **The Woman:** Oh, so you used her for your purposes, you're really a bad boy... let's have dinner so you can tell me the details

Sherlock reads the message and again smiles amused for a moment. He will not answer and she knows she will not be answered. But they both know that for now this is their game. He closes the phone, puts it on the bedside table and after a last look at the rose clears his mind completely. Now he has to take care of John and Mary, this is his only priority.


End file.
